


Hairbrush

by redtrouble



Series: Demonheart: Through the Eyes of Sir Brash [4]
Category: Demonheart (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 01:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15108704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtrouble/pseuds/redtrouble
Summary: Sir Brash finds a way to sneak a pretty firehair a golden hairbrush... Brash's POV. (Spoilers if you haven't played the game so, you know, go play it! You won't regret it!) Rated M for mature language and sexual themes.





	Hairbrush

Sir Brash stared at the golden, engraved hairbrush with its blood-red bristles in the early morning twilight and frowned. The thing was ridiculously heavy and stupidly excessive but it was beautiful, fit for a king, and that’s why he had it—because growing up, he had nothing. And as he stared at it, running his finger over the exquisitely carved designs, he was trying to figure out how to get rid of it.

He looked at the kitten sleeping across the fire, isolated from the others. Her fire-red hair was unmistakable, even in the dim light. He tightened his hold on the brush angrily, trying to figure out how he could give it to her without her knowing. He wanted her to brush her hair, to see its rich color in the afternoon sun, those silky strands sliding over her shoulders, but he couldn’t simply hand it to her. Not without a reason, not without raising suspicion, and not while three other men—two of which were annoyingly protective of her—were looking on.

Brash looked at his brush again and made sure all his blond hairs had been picked out of the bristles. As he was contemplating how he might get it into her bag unnoticed, the old man sat up. Brash lowered his head and mostly closed his eyes, sitting very still against the tree stump he’d spent the night against, and pretended to be asleep.  The old man took a cautious look around and then focused on Bright, watching her. Brash could feel his upper lip curling into a snarl. The creep. Just what the fuck did he think he was doing, ogling her like that? His fingers squeezed the brush but he waited, biding his time. If the old man tried anything, it would give him a good excuse to cleave him in two.

Their patch of the forest was slowly lightening as twilight became dawn, the sun still struggling to penetrate the tree canopy. The fire was mostly bright red embers, a few fingers of flame nursing the last remnants of firewood. Brash hadn’t thrown a new log on in hours, intending to leave the moment the kitten was roused. He had been hoping she would wake first, but with how dead on her feet she’d been the night before, he wasn’t surprised she was still fast asleep.

So Brash was left to watch the old man with his hawk-eyed stare, all while keeping his head down and eyes half-lidded. When Bright suddenly groaned, he cautiously slid his gaze in her direction, wondering if she was alright. Fisher responded to the noise like an old hound in heat, straightening his spine, eyes wide and full of curiosity. Disgusting. _Don’t you fucking look at her like that, you old shit,_ he thought, but he didn’t move or speak.

Bright made another noise and stirred. She was dreaming—something unpleasant, by the looks of her troubled brow. He could see it now in the growing light. Fisher stood up and crossed to her. Brash’s head slowly turned in their direction, just enough to see what he was doing. Fisher glanced at him then the others and, seemingly satisfied they were all still asleep, knelt over Bright and took her by the shoulders, gently shaking her.

“Girl… Wake up…” His brow was knotted with concern but Brash knew better. He was up to something. Bright opened her eyes. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes,” she replied, voice raspy from sleep. She lifted her hand and pressed her knuckles to her forehead. “I’m fine.” She gave a quick smile. “I’ll be fine.”

Fisher released her shoulders and leaned back, allowing her only enough space to sit up. “I’ve been waiting to speak with you,” he said impatiently.

“Just a moment, please.” She was reaching for her pack. “I need to write something down.” She opened the leather satchel and withdrew a book. Before she opened it, however, she gave Fisher a look. The old man forced a smile, stood up, and walked a few paces away. Brash noted how the old man kept glancing his way to make sure he was still sleeping. He wouldn’t be able to keep the ruse up much longer with the way the light was growing.

Brash watched Bright quickly scribble something down and then stare at it as if deep in thought for several minutes. When she finally looked up, she seemed startled by her own daydreaming. She closed the book.

“Do you keep track of your dreams in that notebook?” Fisher asked, pointing to it.

“That, and some other things…” she replied, and Brash suddenly hoped he could find an opportunity to read it.

“My wife used to believe in that stuff,” the old man continued as she stood up and adjusted the armor she wore. It fit her perfectly. “That they mean something, you know?”

“I wonder if there’s truth in it,” she remarked as he motioned her over.

“Come a little farther from the others, so that we may speak freely,” he said. Bright hesitated then nodded and they disappeared around the rocky outcropping that had shielded a section of their camp.

Brash carefully got to his feet, ready to follow them, to catch the old man in his conspiracy against him, but hesitated when he saw Bright’s satchel was still open. He glanced at the other poor excuses for Feline soldiers and, when he was sure they were still asleep, he gingerly laid the brush among her things. She had so few possessions, all of which were weathered and worn. He wanted to give her things, fine things. Why the fuck did he want to do that? He was marching her to her death. Why was he giving her his expensive, golden brush? She didn’t need pretty hair to die.

But he sure as fuck wanted her to have it, to see that gorgeous red hair in the sunlight, to twist his fingers in it if he could.

Brash stood up and crept along the outcropping until he heard hushed voices.

“—about him is really off,” Fisher was whispering. “There’s something wrong with him. That eye of his…”

Brash felt his temper flare. He didn’t like it brought up to her, drawing attention to it. It did that well enough by being a permanent fixture on his face. His eye was black and his face was scarred, and he was ugly and brutish and he knew it. He didn’t need that old cocksucker gossiping about it—not to her.

“It’s only a scar—” Bright started to say but Fisher cut her off.

“You have to be careful! Ever since I caught up, he’s been watching you in that strange way. It ain’t love in his eyes…”

Brash snarled. Of course it wasn’t love. How the fuck could he love her? He was about to get her killed.

“You mean it’s lust?” Bright offered, and it was so obvious that she was trying to understand what the old man was saying, trying to be kind, to be polite—damn her innocence.

“I don’t know,” Fisher replied. “But if it was, you’d be in danger. The mere sight of you puts the knight in a foul mood. It’s as if…he can’t help but find you attractive, and he hates you for it.”

“What?” Bright asked in disbelief as Brash’s fingers curled into fists. The old man was talking too much. He had been counting on the old shit to give him an excuse—any excuse—to spit him on his blade, but maybe it had been a mistake to let him go on gabbing for so long.

“He hates you because he likes you,” Fisher explained. “I’m telling you, those Scarcewall knights are a vicious breed! They say Sir Brash was accused of rape multiple times, yet nothing was, er…proven. There is no punishment for Lord Mace’s pets.”

That was it. That fucker was going to die. Brash reached behind his head and wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. No one talked about the Scarcewall knights or Lord Mace that way—and no one sure as fuck accused him of rape and got away with it. He would fucking gut this—

“Maybe he was innocent,” Bright said calmly, and Brash stopped in his tracks. Her tone wasn’t frightened or confused, just gentle. She…believed he was innocent? The old man was trying to turn her against him, giving her every reason not to trust him and, instead, she…was? Trusting him?

“You are such a gentle child,” Fisher murmured, and Brash felt his hand slip off the hilt of his sword.

Fucking right, she was. It was the smartest thing the old man had ever said. Brash didn’t listen to anything else he had to say. He wanted to look at her, talk to her, see for himself if she really meant it. He came around the corner just in time to hear Fisher tell her that she needed to run and the old man’s eyes widened in shock.

“Sir Brash!” he exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, you old shit,” Brash grumbled. “Did I interrupt your conspiracy?”

“It-it’s not what you think, Sir,” Fisher lied.

Brash snarled. “Are you calling me stupid?”

“No!” the old man quickly answered. “By no means, Sir. I was trying to tell Bright how she should be quicker if she is to keep up with the soldiers.”

Brash snorted. Lies. But he didn’t care—not in that moment. “Get lost, old man,” he said. “I’ve got a few things to explain to this girl, myself.”

Fisher nodded right into a bow and scurried off toward the camp. When he was gone, Brash gently caught Bright by the chin and forced her to look him in the eyes. She was hesitant, probably because he was touching her, because he was so close. She was trying not to let it show just how unbalanced she felt but she couldn’t hide it—not from him. She was a tough little kitten, still with all her claws and teeth, tamed as she was, but still just a kitten.

“So,” he began, and he couldn’t stop the grin forming on his face as he recalled her words. “You think I was innocent? That just warms my heart.”

Her delicate eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “Weren’t you…?”

“Of course I was,” he replied and she just looked at him as though he had stated a common fact—the sky was blue. She believed him. She had never thought otherwise. It made him happy. Too happy. He was excited. He was fucking flying. “Are you going to run away from me, sweetheart?”

“No, Sir,” she replied softly, and it was music to his ears. She was so good, so perfect.

“Good kitten,” he purred and released her chin. “Now, if we could only get these idiots to be less protective of you when _I’m_ around…” It was annoying the way they all tried so hard to care for her. He was all the knight she needed. Brash cleared his throat and eyed her. “You’ll get that old fool killed, you know. Can’t have him talking that kind of crap about a knight of Scarcewall.”

Suddenly concern sketched her brow and she began shaking her head. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Please, forgive him!”

Gentle child, indeed. Too fucking gentle. She was naïve. “Defending him...?” Brash asked. “You don’t know how stupid you’re being just now!” He took a step toward her and she took one back as his voice grew louder. “Calling _me_ a rapist?” Another step. “He’s just inventing that shit to get closer to you.” Another step, driving her back into the boulder. “Did he also say my eye is the source of all the evil in the world?”

“No…” she whispered, and while it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t entirely true. He wasn’t sure if she wanted to spare his feelings or spare Fisher’s life, but he didn’t want to hear her defend any man that wasn’t him, not even a man as old and grandfatherly as Fisher.

Brash’s gaze roamed over the curves of her beautiful face, her inviting mouth, and her nervous, citrine-colored eyes. He was reminded just how small she was compared to him. He could break her so easily. He could hold her down and do whatever he wanted to her and she wouldn’t be able to stop him…

Brash scoffed and took a step back. She visibly relaxed. He threw his gaze to the woods and mumbled, “He sure looks like he’s about to piss himself every time he takes a look at it…”

It pissed him off. It was just a scar. He couldn’t help the way his eye looked. He didn’t ask for an axe to the head. Some days he wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to have lost the eye with the way people cowered at the sight of it. He didn’t want her to think so—that it was evil. That it was ugly. But it was—he would be the first to admit it. Why would she think any differently?

When Brash looked back at her, she was studying him, waiting. Waiting for him to say something. He thought about what he should say—anything to keep her there with him a little longer, just the two of them.

“So, kitten, sweetie,” he began. “You think all old men are like your loving grandpa? Think the old bugger cares about your health and peace of mind?” He leaned toward her. She needed to know the truth. “All he really wants is to get inside your panties!”

Her eyes widened in shock. “How can you say that?” she exclaimed, mortified. “He’s an old man!”

“How little you know…” Brash licked his lips and looked at hers before meeting her eyes again. “We’re all men out here except for you, kitten,” he warned her. “Next time, don’t sit so close to them unless you want to become someone’s dick sheath.”

Her face flushed in embarrassment and her eyes burned with anger. He waited for her to spit in his face, to tell him he was disgusting, to insist on the nobility of the fools following after them. Instead, she looked intently from his black eye to his olive one, back and forth, down to his mouth, and back to his eyes.

“But I’ll be safe with you,” she said carefully. “Right?”

Godsdamnit, this girl was always flooring him with her questions. It took him a minute to choke out a response. “Yeah.” He hesitated then added, “Well, as long as you’re in my sight.” He straightened. “That moron refuses to obey me anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to do something to you. Your call whether you believe me or not. I’m just telling you how not to end up getting hurt.”

Bright gently nodded, a single dip of her head, and Brash tore himself away from her before she could say anything else to disarm him. He felt fucking naked with a question like that. Safe with him? She was the least safe with him. Because he was marching her to her death. Because he wanted to rip that armor off of her and ravage her bloody. Because none of the fools tagging along with them could stop him, didn’t stand a chance against him. But for the next couple days, nothing and no one would touch a pretty, fire-colored hair on her gorgeous fucking head, because he would protect her with every ounce of his being.

When Brash entered the camp, he found Jasper and Tunes were awake and had already packed up their gear. The freaky archer had wandered off, Fisher was packing his bedroll, and Jasper was looking at the road, studying the path they were about to take. He crossed over to him and pretended to study it, too, just to give him something to do. He was too aware of her, of her return to camp, of her rummaging in her things. He glanced back and saw she had discovered the hairbrush. He held his breath even as his pulse started racing.

Bright glanced around as if to ask who it belonged to and he just barely managed to turn his head in time to avoid meeting her eyes. When he dared peek again, she was happily brushing the tangles out of her hair, a small smile on her pretty lips. It took a few minutes to work out all the knots and he relished the rise and fall of each thick, red wave. A hot feeling stirred in his loins every time those silky strands passed over her fair skin, every time her slender neck was exposed. It was torture, watching those bristles disappear into her hair the way his fingers wanted to…

When she was finished, she tossed her hair back and it caught the sunlight. It looked so rich and lovely. She smiled contentedly and inhaled deeply, her eyes closed against the morning sun. Brash smiled for just a second. She was so…so fucking beautiful. He was glad he had given it to her…

Brash looked away to hide his expression—a mix of joy and lust, anger and regret. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to will away his guilt and focus on another feeling just as consuming—something carnal. He imagined her naked, her red hair sliding across her bare skin, sweaty with desire. He saw his hands tangled in her hair and his mouth on her skin, tongue gliding over salty flesh as she moaned, and—

“Sir.” Jasper broke into his thoughts. “I was thinking—”

“Shut up,” Brash snapped, opening his eyes.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his pants now uncomfortably tight, and, without fully turning around, motioned for Bright and the others to come. She nodded, tightened the draw strings on her satchel, slung it over her shoulder, and smiled as she bounded toward him, her beautiful hair bouncing with every step. He immediately snapped forward.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, and started walking.


End file.
